


In the Fall

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Magic Stiles, Supportive Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: When the weather does turn colder and there’s clouds darkening the sky and he knows that it’s today. He’s not sure how he knows -- maybe it’s from the years of being with Stiles or from their bond, but he knows today’s the day.**Stiles has rituals and Peter supports him, as always.





	In the Fall

This is Peter’s favorite time of year. Fall and winter, but mostly winter.

The oppressive heat of their small California town is clearing out and sometimes he swears he can smell the fog from the ocean. Even though evergreens fill most of the preserve, there’s still enough oaks turning red to make it look like fall.

Fall means red wine, slowly braised dinners and the preserve getting dark earlier. Plus he gets to wear his soft cashmere sweaters and fall jackets, even if he doesn’t technically need them for warmth. And while he has very shapely legs in shorts, Stiles has pointed out that his thighs and ass look hotter in jeans and black boots.

But there’s also this. When the weather does turn colder and there’s clouds darkening the sky and he knows that it’s today. He’s not sure how he knows -- maybe it’s from the years of being with Stiles or from their bond, but he knows today’s the day.

Stiles flips on the kitchen light when he comes downstairs. Peter should have, it’s already nine in the morning and it’s clearly going to be a day to leave lights on. “Hey, babe, you about ready to go?”

The wolf smiles at him, noting Stiles is wearing one of Peter’s sweatshirts, and it’s no longer so big across the shoulders. Peter’s sweatpants are a little short, and a little loose around Stiles’ waist, but it’s helpful to Peter, the joining of their scents, and seeing how Stiles wants to be with him. “Of course, my moon. I thought you’d be ready; I thought it’s today.”

“It’s today and we’re all ready,” Stiles answers and holds out a hand. “C’mon, we have just about enough time to walk there.”

The Nemeton is as it’s been for the last however many years. Peter truly doesn’t know. It’s something else that Talia took from him, the knowledge of when the tree was cut down, mortally wounded, turning it into something as angry and violent as he was when he woke from his coma.

The rain starts falling harder as they approach and Stiles is already stripping off his shirt, anxious for what’s next. “You want to take these?” he asks, holding his clothes out to Peter.

“Of course,” he says, shoving the shirt and pants under his shirt as though it might keep them dryer.

He takes a step back as Stiles kneels in front of the massive stump, his head bowed. If he tried, Peter could probably hear what his mate is saying. He can hear the beginning, Stiles just greeting the tree, whispering hello and thanking it for protecting the town.

After a couple of minutes, Stiles stands and climbs until he’s standing on the stump. Peter can feel the storm getting heavier, rain starting to make more noise around them. The Nemeton is in a bit of a clearing, but Peter’s standing back far enough, he’s relatively dry under a couple of trees. At least for now. 

Stiles stands with his hands in front of his chest, folded as though he’s praying and maybe that’s what it is. His head is bowed, lips barely moving as he reconfirms his bond with the tree and the land they both protect.

To Peter, their real joining was their mating ceremony in the preserve. Close to their home, but out of sight of the tree. Derek, as alpha, read the vows used by Hales for generations, with just a brief blessing by one of Stiles’ magic teacher. When they married at city hall, Peter dutifully said ‘for better or worse’ and absolutely meant it – even if the wedding was for Stiles’ father who wanted to be sure Stiles would have the security of a legal marriage since his husband is so much older and more than a couple of people would be happy if he were dead.

Most of their life is better, but this is the time for worse, at least for Peter. After a couple of minutes, when the thunder is rumbling, Peter steps out from under the relative dryness of the tree. He’s not sure why there was ever a thought that he could keep Stiles’ clothes dry; it’s never worked before, but maybe it’s Stiles way of assuring him that he’ll be back. After this, his normal, as in not-quite-normal, Stiles will be coming home with him. Tonight they’ll read or watch television and certainly Peter will want him in bed, stabilizing himself by holding Stiles down and leaving his scent literally everywhere. 

Peter barely gets out from under the tree when he hears a crack of thunder and looks up to see a bolt of lightning hitting Stiles in the chest.

It’s awful and beautiful and Peter hates watching this, but wants it for his boy. Stiles’ eyes are that wonderful-horrible marble white and his arms are thrown back behind him. He screams and the few birds still in the trees all fly away in panic. From far away, Peter can hear a howl (Erica?) and a responding one that he supposes is to soothe her.

Peter’s heard this scream before, and he’s seen the look of ecstasy on Stiles’ face. Hell, he’s put that look on his face himself, made him scream and will again. But of course, this is different and Peter has nothing to do with it. His only role is as witness and to be sure Stiles gets home afterwards.

Stiles sits on the stump and then slides off, holding onto it as he gets his bearings again. He walks over to Peter, grin on his face, and pushes back his wet hair. His legs aren’t quite steady yet and Peter steps towards him to offer support and to be sure he’s really okay and back with him, back in their world. He smells of rain and the tree and a certain wildness that Peter loves.

Peter thinks he can smell singed hair, although Stiles swears there isn’t any. And he’s imagining it, but Peter smells burning flesh, which can’t really be true, it’s just in his head. Looking at Stiles, he’s fine. Better than fine, he’s strong, confident and happy.

“Hey, my wolf,” Stiles says, wrapping his cold, wet arms around Peter’s neck. “You’re a little wet, did ya know that?”

“I think I might be,” he answers, keeping his voice steady, nose buried deep in the hollow of Stiles’ neck, reassuring himself it’s done, for this time, this season. “I’m afraid I didn’t do much to keep your clothes dry.” He reaches between them, pulling them out from under his own soaked shirt. “Nope. I tried, but you may as well stay naked. We can get you home and into a bath and some food.”

“I am hungry. I know you think it’s gross, but I really want KFC.”

It _is_ rather gross, but Peter can’t deny him. Not when Stiles looks at him, his eyes again the color of a thirty-year old tawny port.

Peter pulls off his wet shirt and hands everything to Stiles. “You bathe and I’ll go get food.” He avoids the potential for an argument by shifting into his wolf form.

“I’ll write you a list so you can’t pretend to forget things, which we all know sometimes happens.”

In spite of the snark, Peter lowers himself enough so that Stiles can climb on his back for a faster ride home. Sooner to get them both warm, dry and tucked back into bed for the rest of the day.

The excitement’s over and it seems the storm is letting up. This is the start of fall and now it’s done.

Until there’s a special storm in the spring, but that’s months away.


End file.
